


melchior calls it shakespearean

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Artist Ernst Robel, Deaf Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, but also thinking he's good at like everything, melchior and hanschen's relationship is basically hanschen being like 'ugh he's so annoying', once again: disclaimer my hanschen is black and my ernst is mexican and georg is black, side note!! the people fake dating each other are hanschen and melchior, they do Not become a thing though bc they can stand eachother about half the time, umm bobby is black too i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: hanschen just kinda wants to punch himthey're getting coffee at what seems like the only coffee shop in town that isn't a starbucks or a caribou. melchior is scattering muffin crumbs all over the table and hanschen is trying his best not to get irritated, when bobby fucking maler swans through the door and comes over.a lot of other things happen, but it all comes down to this:"melchior and i are together," is the worst thing hanschen's ever had to say.





	1. part i

The coffee shop has huge windows in the front, letting in lot of natural light and making the dark wood tabletop sun-warm to the touch. Melchior, of course, immediately drags Hanschen up to a table right in front of the window, so that everyone strolling down the sidewalk on their way to  _ wherever  _ can stare at Melchior’s face and wish he was their boyfriend. He leaves Hanschen there as he goes to order their coffee- the only good thing about Gabor is his frankly supernatural ability to remember literally everyone’s coffee order- and comes back a few moments later with two muffins, a mug of coffee for Hanschen, and his iced latte.

“I don’t like muffins.” Hanschen says, taking the mug. 

“They’re both for me,” Melchior responds easily.

Melchior talks for another fifteen minutes without Hanschen saying anything more than  _ uh-hu, yeah sure,  _ and  _ that’s sucky.  _ It’s great. He has absolutely no idea what Melchior is saying. He’s pretty sure it started as complaints about where Gabor’s working right now- a campaign office, for some gubernatorial candidate Hanschen’s never heard of- but he’s said “Moritz” seven times in the last two sentences and doesn’t seem to be complaining about anything anymore. 

Hanschen person-watches in lieu of paying attention. Most of the people passing by are either old people or hipsters, with the odd gay couple who are almost in the latter category. Hanschen’s trying not to judge because almost everyone looks pretty happy, walking hand in hand with their datemate, trailing behind their dogs, or holding a bag of donuts from bakery down the street. It’s a nice day out, too- all the clouds in the sky are puffy, looking like a renaissance painting brought to life, which makes it all the more dramatically awful when Bobby Maler meanders down the sidewalk, pauses in front of the coffee shop, smiles too-widely at Hanschen, and makes his way inside. 

It’s not like Hanschen doesn’t like Bobby Maler, because he’s a very nice person, but their parting wasn’t exactly amicable, and Hanschen remembers shouting something along the lines of  _ “you bastard I don’t need you I can get a different datemate,”  _ and not waiting for a response before storming out the door of his own apartment. He’s still single, too, which just makes all of this worse, unless- 

“Melchior, we’re dating, right?” He asks, interrupting Gabor, who was evidently waxing poetic about Moritz’s hands, which: ew. 

Gabor makes a face. “I’m so glad I can say we’re not.”

“Except,” Hanschen corrects, “we are, and so I just wanted you to know that the guy coming inside is an ex.” He picks up one of the muffins, just to have something to do with his hands. 

The bells tied to the door jingle as Bobby strides into the cafe. He doesn’t even order before coming over to where Hanschen and Melchior are sitting, which is just  _ wow.  _ Ugh.

Hanschen is perhaps being a bit nit-picky, but he thinks he’s allowed to be. He takes a big bite of the muffin right before Bobby greets them. 

“Oh, hey, Hanschen.” Bobby’s smile is still just as hot as it was six months ago. Hanschen only barely stops himself from gagging. He gestures at his full mouth and Bobby nods understandingly. 

“Hey,” Melchior says to Bobby, shooting Hanschen a look and scooting his chair closer to him. He wraps an arm around Hanschen’s shoulder and Hanschen’s sure that how awkward they both feel is going to be obvious and blow their cover, but Bobby doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey. I’m Bobby.” He extends a hand and Melchior shakes it.

“Melchior Gabor.” Melchior’s current smile is one Hanschen is well acquainted with. He’s usually Melchior’s plus-one to the more political of the fancy dinners he goes to, and Melchior’s smile gets tight- exactly like this- whenever he’s deciding if he likes someone. 

“Nice to meet you, Melchior,” Bobby says, only looking around for a second before grabbing a chair, dragging it over to the table, and sitting down. He doesn’t look like he has any plans to leave, and Hanschen sighs in resignation. Melchior’s smile sours. “How do you know Hanschen?” Bobby continues, impervious to Melchior’s glare. 

“Well, we met at a protest, actually.” Melchior looks at Hanschen for confirmation, or maybe in hope that Hanschen will pick up the story, and Hanschen nods and takes another bite of his muffin. “You know how it is. We went out for drinks, um... “ Melchior looks almost lost for words, even though what he’s said so far is basically how he and Hanschen actually met. He takes his arm off of Hanschen’s shoulder to hold his coffee with both hands.

“We’ve been dating four months,” Hanschen finishes, swallowing the bite of muffin. 

Bobby swallows the lie just as easily. “Oh, that’s great!” And he looks genuinely happy for Hanschen, which makes Hanschen want to empty Melchior’s iced coffee on his head. 

“Yeah! Melchior’s a  _ great  _ boyfriend.” Hanschen says, trying not to grit his teeth. He doesn’t look over at Gabor. He’s not sure he could handle the smug look that’s definitely plastered on his irritatingly handsome face.

“So I’ve been told.” Melchior seems to have gotten over himself and is now enjoying this. Hanschen really does hate him. “Do you want a coffee?” Melchior moves to stand up and order for Hanschen, but Hanschen grabs at the dumbass cardigan he’s wearing. It’s oddly soft. 

“Don’t leave,” he mutters, still not looking at Melchior. Melchior doesn’t sit back down, just grabs Hanschen and pulls him up, holding his upper arm with one hand. 

“Coffee?” Melchior asks again. “My treat.” He smiles brightly at Bobby, who nods after a moment.

“Just black coffee.”

“No problem.” Melchior walks over to the counter, stopping a few feet away. Hanschen follows him. “Look,” Melchior says quietly. “This was kind of hilarious, but you looked really upset. Did he do something? We can leave.”

“No, it was just really awkward.” Hanschen grimaces. “Leaving would be good.”

Melchior orders Bobby’s coffee and swoops back to their table to grab their cups and the remaining muffin, somehow convincing Bobby that their leaving has nothing to do with him. Melchior’s kind of a miracle worker sometimes, when he’s not being an awful person. 

As soon as they’re out the door, Melchior jostles Hanschen with his elbow. “So, I’m a great boyfriend?”

“We will never speak of this again,” Hanschen replies. 

“Yeah,” Melchior agrees, after a moment of silence. “This isn’t the kind of thing I want Moritz to know.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never have to come up, they both think. 


	2. part ii

Hanschen hates being wrong, and he’s fine with admitting it. Knowing that, at one point, something he truly thought was factual isn’t is one of the worst feelings he’s ever had, which is just _part_ of why it’s so awful when he shows up at Anna’s birthday party, only to run into Bobby Maler.

He’s leaning against the wall next to the cake and makes a joke about guarding it, then asks where Melchior is, his head cocked slightly. The picture of innocent curiosity.

Hanschen blinks at him, then laughs too loudly because he knows, for a fact, that Melchior is currently signing-slash-flirting, in his own ridiculous Melchior way, with Moritz, just a few feet away, and if Bobby sees him they’re going to have problems.

“Oh, you know. We’re not one of those joined-at-the-hip couples.” Hanschen says.

Bobby nods understandingly. “I remember that from when we were dating.”

Hanschen laughs again. He’s developing a headache. “Yeah, that was…” He doesn’t know what his plan was for the end of that sentence, but now he’s reached it and there’s no good way to finish it. “Anyway. I can grab him, if you guys want to talk. Melchior!” he calls. Melchior is slow to respond, finishing whatever thing he was signing to Moritz and then ruffling his hair before turning to Hanschen. _Ruffling his hair._ Who _does that._

“What _is_ it, Rillow- oh, Bobby, hey.” Melchior slides easily from irritated to pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t think I’d see you again anytime soon. What brings you here?”

“He and Anna are friends. I just didn’t think they’d _talked_ recently.” Hanschen glares at Anna across the room. She’s making the rounds in her wheelchair, her blond hair perfectly windblow. She catches his eye and shrugs.

“Well, you know, I’m not in town forever and wanted to stop by.”

“Oh, really?” Melchior raises his eyebrows. “How long are you staying?”

“Two, three weeks?” Bobby’s eyes flit away from the pair to someone behind them. “Hey, there’s Georg! If you two will excuse me…”

“Talk to you later!” Melchior says, waving him off and wrapping an arm around Hanschen’s waist. Hanschen tenses and Melchior winces.

“Sorry,” he hisses, “it seemed like a couple-y thing to do.”

“Yeah, sure.” Hanschen waves a hand and makes an effort to relax. Melchior has longer arms than Hanschen thought. He’d never paid much attention and Melchior has always reminded him of a T-Rex, in a way, and they have short arms.

“We can keep this up until he leaves, I think, just so long as Moritz doesn’t hear about it.”

“Or Ernst,” Hanschen agrees mindlessly, distracted by the fact that Melchior Gabor has his _arm_ around Hanschen’s _waist_ and Hanschen is _letting him_ and the world is obviously going to hell. “Wait. Keep this up?”

“Well, yeah. We can’t just suddenly _not be dating,”_ Melchior rationalizes. “And it’s only a few weeks. Less than a month.”

“More than half a month without your _best friend_ noticing.”

“He can’t think I’m taken. I’ve spent way too long making sure he knows that I’d be open to a relationship with him and I’m not going to blow it on you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell him we’re faking it?”

“Hanschen.” Melchior turns to face him, both hands in his pockets, and Hanschen is distressed to find his misses the arm around his back. “Do you know how _dumb_ this sounds? I have an image to keep up.”

Hanschen snorts. “Fine, thank you, won’t tell Moritz if you don’t tell Ernst.”

“Why don’t you want to tell Ernst?” Melchior wiggles his eyebrows. He’s obviously looking for a specific answer but Hanschen will be damned if he tells Gabor the actual reason.

“The concept that I would even consort with you, let alone _date_ you, is horrible. I don’t want Ernst thinking that I might.”

“So it’s not at all that you want to make sure Ernst knows you’re single, right?”

“Nope?”

Gabor still looks skeptical, but Moritz wanders over before he has a chance to say anything.

 _“Hey, Hanschen! Melchi, I lost your beer, but Wendla brought sparkling cider.”_ He holds up a plastic wine glass full of the amber drink. Melchior takes it without protest, an obvious tribute to how much he loves this boy. It’s a bit ridiculous.

Moritz has always reminded Hanschen of a lost puppy whenever he’s away from Melchior and a puppy around Melchior. His dark hair would be wavy if it were longer, but now it just holds the suggestion of a curl over his forehead. (Hanschen’s is shorter than Moritz’s on the sides and longer than his on the top. It’s also way more afro-textured. Hanschen would argue that it probably looks better because he put more than three seconds into it this morning, but he sees the appeal of Moritz’s. It looks like it’d be soft if he ran his fingers through it. He has big brown eyes and a septum piercing and his sweater comes down to his knees.

Whenever Melchior looks at him, you can see his gaze soften. It’s sickening, but also pretty sweet.

 _“Thanks, Moritz,”_ Melchior signs, not meeting Hanschens eyes. He takes a long draught of the cider.

_“What’re you guys up to?”_

_“Just saving Hanschen from his ex.”_ Melchior elbows Hanschen. Hanschen nods.

“ _Why’d you have your arm around his waist?”_ Moritz furrows his brow. _“I didn’t know you guys were that close.”_

Melchior lifts his hands and he’s obviously about ten seconds away from spilling everything. Hanschen should’ve expected this- the guy can’t keep anything from Moritz. But if Moritz knows, then Ernst will know and Hanschen _really_ doesn’t want that to happen. _“I’m trying to get more okay with touching my friends,”_ Hanschen offers. He really has because apparently his therapist thinks he needs more nonsexual affection in his life, but he wasn’t planning on telling Moritz or Gabor that.

Melchior blinks at him and Moritz grins. _“That’s great, Hanschen! I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”_ Moritz goes bashful at the last sentence and Hanschen tries not to roll his eyes.

 _I bet that’s not the only reason you were happy about my answer. “Thanks.”_ There’s a pause, all three starting awkwardly at each other.

Melchior looks down at his cider and sets it on a side table. _“I’m going to go find my beer.”_

Hanschen shifts his weight absently, watching Melchior weave through the other people at the party. He looks over at Moritz. _“So.”_ He signs.

 _“So,”_ Moritz echoes.

 _“So can you not tell Ernst?”_ Hanschen feels oddly anxious, but he doesn’t want to talk about Ernst with Moritz.

 _“About the touching thing or the hanging out with Melchior thing?”_ Moritz looks amused. It’s a very Melchior expression.

“ _Both_.” Hanschen shifts again. _“I just…_ you _know? He’s a different part of_ my _…”_ He groans. It’s hard to explain and this is already awkward.

Moritz nods. _“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”_

How the fuck is this guy so good? Hanschen empathizes more with Melchior than he ever thought he would. “ _Thanks.”_

Moritz hugs him, wrapping his also longer-than-Hanschen-expected arms around Hanschen’s torso and burying his face his Hanschen’s shoulder. It’s really nice.

 _“Thanks for hanging out with Melchior, by the way.”_ Moritz takes a step back, blushing more than Hanschen would think possible. _“I think he needs more friends, honestly. And I appreciate you being thinking about Ernst.”_

Apparently they’re being honest. Fuck. Hanschen shrugs. _“It’s more me thinking about what he’ll think about me.”_

Moritz raises his eyebrows. _“You really like him, don’t you. I’m going to find Melchior.”_ He spins on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

Hanschen opens his mouth, ready to stop him, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around and is met with Ernst’s face, just as ridiculously angelic as it ever is, maybe more so in the dim light of Anna’s living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give moritz stiefel piercings 20k19!!!!


	3. part iii

_ “Hey, Ernst.”  _ Hanschen tries to smile winningly. 

_ “Hey.”  _ Ernst grins at him, teeth bright white against his tan skin.  _ “Talking with Moritz?”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _ Hanschen’s usually at a bit of a loss for words around Ernst. Sure, there’s the odd time where he manages to string long, complete sentences together, but today is not one of those times.  _ “He’s pretty cool.” _

Ernst has light pink hair- dark brown at the roots where it’s growing out- an eyebrow ring he got with Moritz, and barely-there freckles across the bridge of his nose like constellations. He’s wearing a too-big flannel over a t-shirt with an art joke that Hanschen doesn’t get. He’s ethereal and so far out of Hanschen’s league he might as well actually be an angel. He also can’t know about Hanschen and Melchior fake dating.

_ “He really is.”  _ Ernst grins in what is probably the general direction of Moritz.

Ernst can’t know that Hanschen’s fake dating Melchior partly because yes, he does want Ernst to think he’s single on the off chance that Ernst might feel literally anything for him, but mostly because Melchior can be a  _ bastard,  _ especially to Ernst, and Hanschen knows that Ernst likes having a friend where he doesn’t have to pretend to like him. Hanschen doesn’t want to wreck that. He really, really, doesn’t. 

_ “How have you been?”  _ Hanschen asks, searching for his drink. He’d set it down while he was chatting with Moritz and he’s not sure where it went.

Ernst’s face lights up at the question, his smile widening. Hanschen pauses in his hunt, taken aback. Sometimes, foolishly, he thinks that there’s no way Ernst could get more beautiful and he’s always proven wrong. 

_ “I’ve been volunteering at the Girl Power program at the elementary school, right?”  _

Hanschen nods. They’d done a day where they explained gender and trans people to the girls and Ernst had come in and he and the girls had been so taken with each other that he’d become a permanent fixture in the program. Ernst loves it. Hanschen finds his solo cup on a side table a few feet away and grabs it. 

_ “We’ve been doing an art unit recently and it’s so cool seeing what they create.”  _ Ernst gets a wistful look in his eyes when he talks about them.  _ “Tabia- you’ve met her! She’s got the braids with pony beads and she’s always wearing a superman watch? She’s just been making Captain Marvel. Over and over again. Every unit. The sculpted one was pretty impressive.”  _ Ernst sighs.  _ “It makes me wonder what I could have made if my parents had…”  _ He cuts himself off and shrugs.

Hanschen sets down his drink on the same side table, resigning himself to losing it again.  _ “Hey,”  _ he says, bumping into Ernst with his shoulder.  _ “What you do is incredible. Have you shown those girls any of it?” _

Ernst blushes and Hanschen can feel his own ears heat up. He takes a step away from Ernst, back into his own space. Bobby’s still roaming the party, and if he wants to keep up this charade… 

_ “Actually,”  _ Ernst signs,  _ “I’m getting ready for a showing at the Dovetail. I’ve been running my art past them. They say they like it.” _

“Hm.” Hanschen pauses.  _ “You’re doing a show? At the Dovetail?”  _ The Dovetail is a restaurant a few blocks from Hanschen’s apartment. It’s in an old warehouse, exposed brick walls and mediocre coffee. It offers classes on random stuff on the weekends, does art shows a floor above the restaurant, and it’s a hangout spot for hipsters and teenagers- exactly the kind of people who would like Ernst’s paintings.  _ “Ernst! That’s incredible.” _

_ “Thanks.”  _ He looks almost shy, now, staring at the floor.  _ “I’ve been going through my stuff and was hoping you could help me pick some pieces to show?” _

Hanschen blinks at him. This is one of the first times Ernst has offered to hang out with him- usually Hanschen suggests that they meet up somewhere, or go to get dinner, or watch a movie- and definitely the first time he’s offered to show Hanschen his art. He looks terrified of Hanschen’s answer.  _ “Of course, Ernst. That sounds terrific.” _

_ “Cool! Does like, Tuesday afternoon work? It’s the day before the showing, but I’m not really free until then.”  _

Hanschen holds up a finger and takes out his phone, flipping to the calendar app.  _ “Yeah that works.”  _ With a few taps, he adds  _ helping ernst  _ on Tuesday and  _ ERNST’S SHOW  _ on Wednesday.

Ernst bounces a bit on his toes, giddy.  _ “I’m really excited for you to see this stuff, honestly.” _

_ “I’m excited to see it.” _ He grins at Ernst, who grins back, and both of their smiles almost sustain when Bobby and Melchior walk up. Bobby slaps Hanschen on the back, which he remembers is a greeting from when he was in high school. He winces a bit. No one but Melchior notices.

“Your beau and I were making plans to get together for dinner,” Bobby starts, and Hanschen drags the pair away from Ernst, signing an excuse with one hand. 

Melchior puts a hand around Hanschen’s waist and Hanschen leans into him, just a bit. He smells like cologne and Hanschen does his best not to grimace. “Oh? When?”

“Next Wednesday,” Bobby says. “Melchior says you’re free.”

Hanschen tenses- of course this was going to happen! Of course it was, and it’s ridiculous he didn’t see it coming. “Actually, a friend of mine has a show…” he signs  _ Ernst  _ at Melchior.

Gabor winces and tightens his hold around Hanschen’s waist, which Hanschen doesn’t  _ love  _ because it’s  _ Melchior,  _ but it’s not bad. “Maybe another day then? We wouldn’t want to make you miss that-”

“Nah, we can all go. I assume you’d be his plus one anyway, Gabor, and I’ll just tag along.” Bobby glances at Hanschen. “Unless this is the kind of friend whose show you’d like to go to alone.” Neither Hanschen or Melchior miss the implication, and Hanschen sighs heavily. 

“Bobby…”

Bobby feigns surprise and Hanschen thanks every god out there that he doesn’t actually care what Melchior thinks of him. “You mean you haven’t told him yet?”

Melchior looks curious, but he takes a step forward and rests a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Hey, Maler. Don’t talk to Hanschen like that; if he wants to tell me something he will. I don’t need to hear it from a bitter ex.” Melchior is almost looking down his nose at Bobby, which Hanschen has to admit is impressive. Melchior’s at least half a foot shorter than him. 

Bobby raises his eyebrows and holds his hands in front of him defensively. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Yeah.” Melchior checks the time on his phone. “We should get going. I need to walk Hanschen home and I have a class early tomorrow.”

Bobby nods, looking sympathetic, and Melchior leads Hanschen outside, one hand on his back. Hanschen frowns at Melchior.

“You do  _ not  _ have an early morning class.” He tries to look bored, which he’s fairly good at by now.

“No shit, Sherlock. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Hanschen narrows his eyes and leans against the hallway wall. “Why?” He asks, his voice guarded. “You’ve never actually willingly talked to me before.”

Melchior’s face resets, whatever he was going to say being snatched out of his mouth. “What do you call our coffee dates?”

Hanschen blanches. “Uh… for starters, not fucking  _ coffee dates.  _ Kinda assumed Moritz made you hang out with me. I went along with it because…”  _ I actually like your company, I guess.  _ Ha. Melchior would never let that go. Hanschen fumbles for an ending to the sentence. “it’s not like I have anything better to do.”  _ Keep your mouth slightly turned down, your eyes half-lidded, don’t act like you care. Because you don’t. _

Melchior scowls. “Well, don’t feel like you’re under any obligation to get coffee with me anymore, then.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Hanschen waves a hand vaguely. “It’s not like we’re friends.”

Melchior cocks an eyebrow at Hanschen and fishes a cigarette out of his wallet. “Yeah, of course not.” He takes a lighter out of the same pocket and opens the apartment door again. “I’m going to find Moritz. Bye.”

“Byeee,” Hanschen drawls. The door slams and Hanschen rests his head against the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late!! im shit at updating, but i honestly don't have any excuse for this one.. :/ this chapter's been in my drafts for a few months and it's not like i was going to proofread it anyway?? not sure what i was thinking. anyway!! have this!! i'll try to write more & also sort out my ideas for how the fuck this is supposed to end
> 
> xoxo hope ur having a great day!!


	4. part iv

“Hey, Ernst!” Hanschen throws Ernst’s apartment door opens and tosses his scarf on the couch. He repeats the greeting in sign language once he has his hands back.

_ “Hanschen,” _ Ernst signs warmly, after putting down a mug of something steaming.  _ “It’s really nice to see you.”  _

_ “You too,” _ Hanschen signs.  _ As always. “So, got these paintings?” _ He rubs his hands together, trying to get them to warm up. There was a cold snap this morning, and Hanschen was thrilled to finally have a use for the scarves he bought. He’d forgotten that the cold comes with more than just cute accessories. It comes with a  _ need  _ for said accessories. 

_ “Just in here.” _ Ernst gestures at the open door to his studio-slash-once-living room.  _ “Would you like some apple cider?”  _ He points at his mug. Hanschen weights the benefits- warm drink, Ernst’s apple cider is probably hand-pressed or something fancy, not the powdered stuff he drinks at home- and the cons- he’d have to put the mug down whenever he wanted to talk to Ernst. He declines.  _ “Your loss,”  _ Ernst says and ushers Hanschen into the next room. 

His studio is  _ papered  _ in paintings and carpeted in paint-stained newspapers. There are paintbrushes in odd nooks and crannies, places where paintbrushes should be able to get. The couch and recliner, the only signs that the room was ever a living room, are covered in a garden tarp. Hanschen’s never seen it this messy. Ernst doesn’t seem phased by the mess, but he shoots a tentative glance at Hanschen, as if worried that the other will be bothered. Hanschen sits on the couch, crossing his legs and ignoring the way the thick plastic creases under his legs. 

_ “Which of these are you showing?”  _ Hanschen asks, peering at the canvases closest to him. 

_ “Most of the bigger ones, and then a few random small pieces.”  _ Ernst looks nervous.  _ “Almost all of the ones that are out right now.” _

Hanschen only barely keeps himself from dragging his fingers over a paint-heavy oil work. He’s disgusted with himself- his father would have killed him. All of his formative years were spent at art museums, consuming culture and being told not to touch what shouldn’t be touched- works of art, boys, all the things that exist in the middle of that venn diagram. Ernst has always made Hanschen’s youth seem to fade away.  _ “These are incredible,”  _ he says. 

The complement makes Ernst look a little bit less nervous. He comes to sit next to Hanschen and the tarp voices a crinkled protest that its target can’t hear.  _ “I just finished this one,”  _ he signs, and lifts a painting off a nearby easel. It’s a painting of a boy- a child, one that matches the childhood pictures of Ernst Hanschen has seen. He’s painting a mural, one with what seems like hundreds of colors. The boy isn’t painted in the same way: he’s grayscale, except where he’s not solid, just an outline of a person, the mural behind him shining through. 

_ “It’s beautiful,”  _ Hanschen signs, and Ernst blushes. They chat for a while longer, Ernst showing him paintings and Hanschen praising them. Hanschen’s afraid he’s not very helpful- he’s never been a very good art critic. He’s a critic of everything else, but art has always struck him in a way that makes it hard to poke holes in. 

All of Ernst’s paintings are of people- usually children, often small boys- blending in with their surroundings. If they’re not completely transparent, their clothing is the same pattern as the wallpaper. There are a lot of cats, but when Hanschen asks about them, Ernst just says that he likes cats, and Hanschen thinks that’s just as likely as any symbolism. 

_ “I felt invisible when I was little,” _ Ernst finally signs, and he laughs a little bit. Hanschen loves Ernst’s laugh, but it sounds more broken than usual. He wants to take Ernst’s hand, but he doesn’t want to make anything awkward.  _ “You know, ‘children should be seen and not heard?’ I was always in the background. I wanted to be a pastor, just so that people would listen to me.” _

Hanschen was usually the center of his father’s attention when he was younger. A sculptor needs to focus on his clay, or it won’t shape properly, his father used to say. Hanschen couldn’t say if it worked. He was a good son for a while, so he supposes it sort of did. He doesn’t bring it up- they’re talking about Ernst. 

_ “My mom and dad were really busy, and couldn’t afford a nanny, so I went to daycare, and I was a quiet kid, you know?”  _ Hanschen’s eye catches on another painting- one of the bigger ones, one of the only ones with other people. A mass of children, all painted solidly but one, at the back, his hair and his shirt the same floral pattern as the wall behind him.  _ “So it’s not like the teachers paid much attention to me.”  _ Ernst laughs again.  _ “I’m not interesting, I guess.” _

_ “You’ve never been invisible to me,” _ Hanschen says, the words forming between his hands before he can stop himself. Very un-Rillow-like. Hanschen has always been composed, but he’s gotten… less so since meeting Ernst. He’s not sure if it’s a bad thing.  _ “You’re like a… a fucking work of art in a meeting room. You’re the only color in a gray room and it’s impossible to look away from you. You’re fascinating. I could spend hours listening to you talk.”  _ Days, Hanschen’s mind continues, months. Hanschen doesn’t add anything, because he’s finally got his hands under control and he doesn’t want to risk that. 

He doesn’t look at Ernst, just looks around at the paintings. There’s one of a man that looks distinctly like Moritz, leading chickens in a row. A small one that Hanschen can barely make out. One of the only ones with adults. A painted Ernst leans against the wall, the striped pattern echoed in his skinny jeans and t-shirt. Hanschen- at least, Hanschen thinks that it’s him- sits in the foreground, dark purple lipstick and his head resting on his hand. He looks softer than he’s ever felt. He wishes he was that version of himself. 

There’s silence. 

_ “I really like you, Hanschen,”  _ Ernst signs. Hanschen just barely sees it out of the corner of his eye, and he turns to look at Ernst again. His face is open and his hair is tied back, pink tendrils hanging in front of his eyes. He puts a hand on Hanschen’s knee- a bit awkwardly, like he wants to touch Hanschen but that’s the only part of him he can reach. 

“Um,” Hanschen says.  _ “Like-like me?”  _ He feels like an idiot, and he winces as soon as he signs that. Ernst laughs and it’s a brilliant noise, like sunshine. 

_ “Yeah. Like-like you.” _

Hanschen blinks at him.  _ “You- I-”  _ he chokes and puts his hands down. Ernst looks at the floor.

_ “I mean,”  _ he signs,  _ “I didn’t…” _

“God, Ernst,” Hanschen breathes, and turns his head with one hand. Ernst’s eyes are brown, and they’ve always reminded Hanschen of chocolate cake.  _ “Can I?”  _ he mouths. Ernst widen those eyes and nods once. Hanschen gathers his face in both hands- something he’s wanted to do almost since they’ve met, to touch the freckles dotting Ernst’s face, to intertwine his fingers with the stray hairs always dancing around Ernst’s hairline. It’s not a good way to kiss someone, but they make it work. Hanschen shifts his hands to hold the back of Ernst’s head and Ernst puts his hands on Hanschen’s waist and they lean back on the tarp-covered couch, holding each other. 

Hanschen doesn’t think about Bobby Maler or Melchior Gabor all day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly really proud of this chapter!! these boys finally got their shit together.. (i say that, but what did hanschen do except let his guard down?? it was all ernst. the fact that musical hanschen was the one who asked ernst out is absurd)
> 
> all paintings in this chapter are inspired/based on the chameleon series by shawna gilmore- you can see them [here](https://www.shawnagilmore.com/chameleon)!! def check her out. she's a local artist (well for me, at least) and her art is p incredible

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make my day!!
> 
> i'm on tumblr @the-stars-say-gay


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